by Vivien Vale
He won’t recognize the woman I’ve become...beneath the disguise, or through the years.
I reapply my lipstick and draw a sharp nail across the bottom of my lip to catch any color which may have bled. It’s unnecessary. My lipstick is perfect.
I smile at myself in the mirror.
There’s a knock on the door—two short raps and then the sound of the electronic card beeping entry.
The door opens and Roger walks into the suite, moving towards the dressing room.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered. His clear blue eyes are sharp under black brows, and his white hair is clipped neatly. He looks and acts decades younger than his seventy-seven years.
The only concession to his advancing age is the silver-topped mahogany cane he’s forced to use.
“Hello, Sienna, my darling,” Roger says as he stands behind me.
Our eyes meet in the mirror. His left hand caresses my arm, moving up and down. It’s a familiar gesture, one that’s meant to comfort…and excite.
I smile at him.
“Hello, Roger.”
“Are you ready for your debut?”
I nod. My heart’s racing so fast, I worry it’s vibrating my skin and he can feel the thrum through the skin of my arm.
Roger bends and kisses my neck.
“You’re absolutely beautiful tonight,” he says. “They’ll be lining up for you.”
The other escorts told me to expect this.
“He’s harmless,” they all promised.
“He thinks of us as his daughters,” one girl told me.
He’s a pretty fucked up father.
I watch his eyes move over my body. Taking his time evaluating me.
When my eyes meet his, he smiles.
I hold my breath as his hand travels down the side of me and over my curves, fighting to keep my expression neutral.
“They’re going to love you,” he says. He skips a beat and looks to the door.
This is the opening, the break in his actions that lets me move on and I start to breathe again.
“Shall we?” he asks.
I nod and slip my feet into black leather heels.
Grabbing my clutch, I follow my new boss out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator made of glass.
Below us, the hotel is abuzz with activity. The lights on the machines flicker as the noise from jackpots sound incessantly.
My heart beats fast. I’m nervous… but I’m excited, too.
If I can handle this new job, I’ll be able to do everything I want to do.
I’ll move Dad from California to Vegas and into the Alzheimer care facility near Bonnie Springs.
Pay off my school loans.
Be able to save for the future.
I can buy myself time to figure out what I want to do with my life.
All I know is working with the Inner Sanctum can give me options.
To me, it feels less humiliating than waiting tables on the strip, where anyone can sit down at the table and ask you to tell them the specials. Anyone…like Leo.
This is just another job.
Though, of course, it’s not.
Still, it can set me up for a decade.
Let me explore myself.
Let me explore my fantasies.
I’m protected from being uncomfortable, for the most part, because with the exception of showing up for dinners and events, Roger says I can say no to everything else.
We ride down thirty floors to the mezzanine level.
When the doors slide open, Roger takes my elbow and guides me out.
The entire hotel looks like it’s gleaming. The marbled floors are buffed to a high shine. The chrome details on the ceiling stretch downwards like stalactites.
“This way,” Roger says, bypassing the escalator to the top of the curved staircase leading to the gaming room. “I want the entire floor to see you.”
It feels like every eye in the casino is on us. For a moment, the noise from the slots and the conversations fall mute as the seconds stretch out in a surreal dreamlike suspension of time.
What have I gotten myself into?
Then Roger places his hand on the small of my back and we walk together slowly down the golden staircase.
No turning back now.
We wind our way through the tourist tables towards an ornate set of doors where two men with beautifully tailored, monochromatic black suits stand ready. One of the men nods to Roger and inclines his head towards me.
“Good evening, sir,” he says. “Evening, madam.”
The man then opens the door to another room.
This one is filled with tables where tuxedoed men and elegantly clad women sit together. Gold and black chips are stacked high in front of most of the men in this room.
The cocktail waitresses aren’t smiling. They all have matching red lips and are wearing identical body-hugging, short black dresses. They move smoothly, deliberately, between the tables, deftly staying out of the grasp of high-rolling men sweating over their winnings.
“Welcome to your new office,” Roger says to me with a laugh.
He takes the two glasses of champagne a waitress offers him and hands me one.
“Our clients are among the wealthiest, most powerful men and women in the world,” he says, using his glass to gesture at the room.
“They come to Las Vegas on business or on a break from business. They’re preoccupied with glamour and luxury. They want to experience sensuality. They come here to play among the elites, the crème de la crème.
“That’s where we—well, that’s where you come in,” he says, nodding at me.
“Your job is to make these men, and sometimes women, feel as if they’ve reached the pinnacle of their lives. It isn’t simply laughing at their jokes and seeing to their needs, but your success hinges on your ability to make our clients feel as if they’ve arrived at the inner sanctum, as if the Earth turns with their every desire.
As I listen to Roger, I let my eyes move over the crowd.
“Make our clients feel like they’re the most interesting people you’ve ever met, as if they’re each more exceptional than the last. You’ll be a player in their beautiful game.”
My eyes lock with an attractive Indian man. He holds my gaze for a beat before nodding to Roger.
The man’s gaze follows me as he whispers to a beautiful Asian woman sitting next to him.
I note her delicate features as she looks to Roger, then locks my gaze.
The man gets up and he walks towards us, stopping in front of me.
“Hello, Roger,” the man says, “it’s good to see you.”
“Rahul,” Roger says. “Have you met Sienna?”
“No,” Rahul replies, his eyes on me and not Roger. “I’m sure I would have remembered.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say. I look up at him through my lashes and let my eyes linger over his full lips. I extend my hand and he takes it.
This is part of the job.
This is what you chose.
These reminders do little to calm my fast-beating heart.
Rahul holds my hand a little longer than necessary as he rubs his thumb across my palm, then finally lets it go.
“I hope I’ll see you soon,” he says to me.
“How is your night going?” Roger asks him. “I see you’re with Salma.”
“She’s lovely,” Rahul says, turning towards Roger.
Rahul looks at me again. “It was nice to meet you, Sienna. Welcome to the Sanctum.”
Salma and Rahul return to their table.
Roger seems pleased. Rahul, he tells me, is one of the wealthiest venture capitalists working in Silicon Valley. It’s rumored he’ll be running for governor of California.
I wonder vaguely if Rahul knows my brother, Jax, Nevada’s junior U.S. senator.
It’s a good thing I chose to wear a disguise…Jax is already furious enough that I took this job. If it became public knowledge…
Roger wa
lks over to another man who is elegantly dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark blue suit. His name, I’m told, is Johnny Engles. He’s a multibillionaire hedge fund founder who happens to be confined to a wheelchair.
Johnny smiles at me and pushes his long dark hair out of his eyes. He looks at me curiously.
Perhaps he’s trying to place me.
We exchange pleasantries and I’m not doing so poorly right now. Rahul touched me longer than necessary, and Johnny was cordial. I think after the variety of introductions I’m sure to get tonight, I’ll just try to take everything in stride.
Roger pulls me along. I’m introduced to several more men and the female head of a robotics company. Each one takes my hand and stares at me hungrily.
When my glass is finally empty, I lift my eyes to find a cocktail waitress to refill it.
Instead, I see Leo.
Our eyes lock.
The champagne flute falls through my fingers.
It doesn’t shatter, it rolls along the black carpet that covers the floor in this room.
He’s still beautiful.
Taller than I remember, or maybe it’s that he’s more imposing.
Broad shoulders contained in a perfectly tailored suit. Layers of clothing covering deeply tanned skin.
My eyes take in his face, prominent cheek bones, square jaw, and full lips.
Leo once said that looking at me could set him at ease or drive him wild.
Now he’s looking at me hard, taking in my wig and dress.
I watch his eyes slide towards Roger, who’s standing a few feet away from now speaking to a client whose name I’ve forgotten.
Even from a distance, I can see Leo’s furious. His jaw’s set, and his nearly black eyes narrow.
He’s recognized me.
He’s recognized Roger.
He knows exactly what I’m doing here.
He brings his head down to whisper something to the young woman standing next to him. She moves away and he stalks towards me.
I bite my lip. I want to run away, but my feet are glued to the floor.
I force myself to take a deep breath.
I can’t run away. How would that look? I need this job.
Who is he to judge me? He’s the one who left me to hold everything together alone.
I’m not the one who ran away then; I won’t now.
Instead, I square my shoulders and jut my chin out.
Leo’s coming towards me.
I’m more than a little afraid of what’s about to happen, but this time, I don’t plan to let myself be so vulnerable in his presence.
Leo
I’m struggling to walk, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. I want to leap over tables and run to her.
I can feel my jaw working, clicking in and out of place.
It feels like I’m running in place, moving through fucking molasses.
Why aren’t people trying to stop me? Why isn’t everyone staring at me? Someone should be holding me back because I’m not in control.
Completely not in control.
I’m breathing hard. It sounds like I’m growling.
The only person who can see how dangerous I am is Sienna.
My heart is beating so fast. I can almost feel the blood pushing against the valves in my veins.
Sienna.
Sienna Reid, the girl I chased around the ranch.
The girl I taught to climb trees.
The woman who surrendered herself to me.
The woman I loved.
She’s the reason I left California ten years ago. I left to prove myself as someone worthy of her.
And now she’s one of Roger’s women? Is she actually one of the Inner Sanctum?
The thought makes me feel completely fucking unhinged.
I spot Roger standing at a table some distance from her. He’s leaning on his cane, laughing with a blue-eyed man with a Spanish accent who claims to be twentieth in line for the British throne.
It doesn’t matter to me, or to Roger for that matter, what our customers’ stories are, how fantastic or horrible they say they are.
Roger and I sell fantasies. If these men and women want to pay for the privilege of endless drinks, fawning service, and everyone believing their tall tales, then so be it.
But Sienna doesn’t make sense in this world. She doesn’t belong here.
It has been ten years since we last saw each other.
Ten years since I promised I’d be back after I’d conquered some small part of the world.
And I did conquer. I conquered New York and now I’m winning Vegas.
But I never went back.
Even after I read in the papers along with the rest of the world how the Reid mines had been shut down and their assets had been seized.
I didn’t go back even after I read how Mr. Reid retreated from the spotlight and spent the last of their once vast fortune trying to stay out of prison.
I read how Jax took his schooling and his contacts and used them to get into politics.
I followed his elections, first to the House of Representatives and now the U.S. Senate, and how he vowed to clean up corporate kickbacks to government officials. Those kickbacks his father used to keep his family in business. He lambasted his father in the media throughout the campaign.
“I know how the rich guys think,” Jax said in one debate. “I was raised at their feet. But I’m not one of them, I know how to defeat them and fight back for the people.”
The people whispered that Mr. Reid had lost his mind and slipped willingly into dementia.
I knew all of this, but still I didn’t go back to Sienna.
I didn’t call her or email her.
I knew she had to cope alone.
I didn’t go back.
Now it’s been so long since we’ve been in the same room, I didn’t immediately recognize her.
My eyes are drawn to her golden dress. It must be made through some sort of sorcery, the fabric is so fine. It ripples over her like liquid gold.
The dress looks as if it was made for her. It hugs her hips and ass and falls over her tits like second skin.
I should have known her at a glance, but the black hair threw me.
Disguising yourself from me, Golden?
Seeing her smile, I know instantly it is Sienna. For one drawn out minute everything rushes back.
The pit manager is asking me something, but I can’t understand what she wants.
The only thing I can think is that Sienna is here.
Then I see Roger.
Sienna doesn’t see me until she turns around, empty champagne flute in hand, and our eyes connect.
What are you going to say to me, girl? How are you going to explain yourself?
I stalk toward her. I want to demand she get out.
But then I realize she doesn’t need to explain herself to me. She’s been taking care of herself for a long time—who am I to demand anything from her?
Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.
I can see she’s bracing herself for confronting me, but I change course.
I’m hunting Roger now.
I’ve let him work out of here for too fucking long. Selling nights with his women to people more interested in how they appear to the world than how they act in the world.
Selling a night of companionship to people too busy bringing in money to know that they’re sad, lonely, and pathetic.
Now Roger will be selling Sienna to a Spaniard with a shady past or to the film producer with the jowls and nose full of broken capillaries, the one known for cornering actresses in hallways and forcing them into his hotel room.
In theory, the women of the Inner Sanctum don’t have to sleep with their clients. Roger’s modelled the Inner Sanctum on geishas.
His employees are smart and cultured. They’re trained to be able to defend themselves against perverts like the film producer. They’re supposed to act like girlfriends and wives, but sex isn’t required.
The women can choose who they allow to touch them, whom they allow inside their rooms, their beds, themselves. The price is high, and Roger’s women are supposed to enjoy themselves.
I picture Sienna playing this game in one of my hotel’s beds. Her head is thrown back, her mouth open, back arched high. She’s moaning, a man’s head is between her legs and she’s in ecstasy.
I want to fucking break something.
It’s just your imagination. I can’t calm myself down though because I’m right behind Roger now. Before I can stop myself, my hand is wrapping like a vise around his arm. I yank him around to face me.
He stumbles and then regains his balance.
“What are you doing, Roger?” I hiss.
Roger looks down at my hand around his arm, his expression totally unruffled.
“Why Leo,” he says, “how can I calm—I mean, how can help you?”
“What are you doing here?” I say. “You know you can’t be openly working the floor.”
“Don’t worry, Leo,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’m not recruiting anyone. I’m just introducing my newest employee to potential clients.”
He pauses, scrutinizing me. “Would you like to meet her?”
I don’t trust my voice. I gather myself. I straighten my spine to the whole of my six foot two inch frame. I nod.
“Of course,” I say curtly. “I need to know all your employees.”
Roger leans towards me. “You’ll love this one, Leo,” he whispers. “She’s just your type.” He winks at me, like he fucking knows. I want to hit him hard.
“Watch yourself, Roger,” I say, my voice soft.
After a pause, Roger smiles.
“Come on,” he says cajolingly.
I follow him back to the table where Sienna is leaning. She’s been watching us the whole time.
“Leo Asher, meet Sienna Reid,” says Roger, his voice booming. “She’s new, but I think she has a lot of potential and promise. Sienna, this is Leo—he owns this palace and has supported the Sanctum for many, many years.”
She extends her hand for me to take. I grip it, trying not to crush it. I can see the pulse in her neck racing, though her expression is controlled.
“Sienna Reid,” I murmur. “Of all the gin joints.”
“Leo Asher,” she replies. “As I live and breathe.”